


Jealousy

by cockles_take_the_wheel



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Cockles, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-04
Updated: 2013-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-27 01:37:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/972783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cockles_take_the_wheel/pseuds/cockles_take_the_wheel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>VanCon Aug 2013 - After Misha makes out with Rob, Jensen is moody and with a little push, finally admits what’s bothering him. (NSFW) ”I’ve wanted to do this for so long.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jealousy

Jensen was being moody as fuck, even more than usual. He was still nursing the same warm beer he had since they’d all ordered drinks to Richard’s room after the after-after party.

"What’s his problem?" Jared asked, and threw his chin over his shoulder at the dark corner Jensen was occupying by the window.

"Who the fuck knows." Misha shrugged and took another sip of his own beer. His head felt heavier than usual and the slur to his words meant he was probably more drunk than he should have been.

"He’s been like that for hours already. Somebody should pull that stick out of his ass." Rob said loud enough to make sure Jensen heard him, a lazy smile already playing on his lips.

"What did you say?" Jensen asked, abruptly standing. 

Rob, even in his drunken state, had the forethought to take a step back. “Uh, woah, man. It-it was nothing. Forget it.” Misha could feel the tension in the room as Jensen took another step from his shadowy corner.

"No, I want to hear it. What was it you saying about the stick in my ass?" Jesen’s chest swelled, and he was so much like  _Dean_  sometimes, his voice had shifted two octaves deeper and a chill ran down Misha’s spine.

"Dude, I was just kidding." Rob took another step back as Jensen advanced.

Immediately, Jared positioned himself between Jensen and the few of them that remained. “Cool it, man. He was just fucking around.” He didn’t touch Jensen, but the effect was the same. Jensen immediately stopped and turned away.

"Whatever. I’m out of here." He threw the response over his shoulder as he headed for the door. "You coming, Mish?"

"Uh… yeah, sure?" Misha shot Jared a ‘wtf, please help look’ but Jared just shrugged and took another sip of his drink.

Misha grabbed his jacket and put his half-drunk beer on the coffee table. “See you guys in a few hours.” There were a few ‘see ya’s mumbled in the background as he reached the door Jensen was holding open for him.

"What was that about?" Misha asked, once they’d started walking.

"What?"

"Going all  _Dean_  on Rob, for one.” and then he added, more quietly, “Asking me to walk you to your room, for two.”

"I didn’t ask you to walk me to my room. I just asked if you wanted to leave. It’s late anyway." Jensen was doing that pouty thing he did sometimes and Misha was trying to remind himself that he was drunk and trying to kiss Jensen was not going to end well for him.

A few seconds later they stopped outside Misha’s room. “You want to come in?” He was aiming for a ‘makes-no-difference-to-me’ tone, but it came out more ‘please fuck me’ than he’d meant.

"Sure." Jensen answered, not even bothering to look as Misha fumbled for the key-card. 

"Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re acting really weird tonight." Misha laughed as he threw his wallet and pocket trash on the entryway table. He flung his jacket over the back of the couch in the living-room and bent to kick off his shoes.

But before he’d even straightened out, Jensen was on him. Both of his hands pressed firm and warm against the sides of his face while Jensen leaned in, without any hesitation, and kissed him.

It was rough, and almost desperate, the way Misha found himself pushed up against one of the kitchen walls, but fuck, it was good. So fucking good.

The way his lips felt, soft and warm and wet. 

And every fantasy, every daydream or masturbation session Misha had imagined for the past 4 and a half years was nothing,  _nothing_ , compared to what it was really like. 

He groaned as Jensen bent at the knees and pinned his hips against Misha’s. And he could  _feel_ how hard Jensen was and fuck, fucking fuck, this was so hot. He’d wanted this for so long. But he buried it under jokes and laughing and drown it in alcohol at cons when  _looking_  at Jensen was too much. 

Misha moved his hands, caught between them, to Jensen’s back, and pulled at the collar of his jacket. He needed to feel skin. And after a few seconds of pulling and twisting, Misha managed to get Jensen’s jacket off completely.

He wished they’d move this to the bedroom, at least. But the way Jensen had him pinned to the wall, one leg between his, pushing hard into his groin and rubbing just slightly, Misha thought they might not make it.

But fuck it, this was good. This was so much better than good. They way Jensen kissed was so much better than he’d imagined. It wasn’t that slow, sweet lips to lips he did on set. No, this was forceful and raging, like Jensen was trying to force him open. 

And his hands. Fuck! His hands were fucking huge, and hot and grabby. The fisted in his shirt, and pulled at his waist until Misha was flush with the wall and Jensen’s body. Lips to toes, they touched at every inch.

Eventually, using Misha’s hair as a grip, Jensen pulled his head to side, and moved his lips to Misha’s neck and ear and it was almost too much. Jensen’s lips, his hands, his dick, his jean-clad thighs, the way he made these shallow, labored noises while he ground against him.

"Oh, fuck." Misha gasped and reached down for their tangled belt buckles. But before he could get much farther, Jensen sprang back, flying to the other side of the room. 

With the sudden space between them, and the cool air settling on Misha’s hot skin, his buzz all but vanished. There was so much adrenaline pumping through his veins, he felt like he was on a runners high. 

"Uhhhh, what the  **actual**  fuck was that?” Misha asked, as his eyes adjusted to the dark, and he could just make out the heavy rise and fall of Jensen’s shoulders as he leaned against the couch.

"I don’t know." Jensen responded, and the way he was so out of breath made Misha’s knees go weak. 

He groped in the darkness for the kitchen table and a chair. “Well, is it gonna to happen again?” Misha asked as he slipped his hand in his pants and shifted his cock up, so he could more comfortably sit the fuck down.

"Not this second." Jensen said, leaning back to sit on the couch, next to Misha’s jacket. And he made no further move to adjust or hide his raging fucking erection.

And this was too much. Kissing and grinding and Jensen in his fucking room, and what the fuck, right? What the fuck was going on? Finally, seeing that Jensen had no intention of talking, Misha growled threw his hands in the air. "Da fuck!?" 

"I don’t fucking know!" Jensen stood up, and ran his hand through his hair. And, fuck, Misha wanted to touch his hair. It’d all happened so quickly, he wasn’t even sure he got to touch it before.

"I mean, we’ve never… you’ve never really seemed  _interested_  before.” Misha thought back to all the hours of wasted flirting, and subtle arm-touches, and inviting him over on weekends, or out to drinks at cons. 

"I’m  _not_  interested. I’m not gay!”

"Well, good for you! Neither am I!" Misha shouted back. He hated the black-and-white way Jensen viewed sexuality. Like it was either all on or all off, gay or straight. It was the same fucking narrow-minded, pigeonholed way he talked about their characters at cons that made Misha lose it "I mean, far be it from me to call the kettle black, but remind me again who kissed who just now? Are you even drunk?"

"No, okay, no. I’m not drunk, you miserable dick! I’m fucking mad."

And that got Misha’s attention. “Mad? At what?”

"At you!"

"What the fuck did I do?" Misha felt like he was in some sort of dreamworld where nothing made sense, and Jensen had kissed him, and he’d  _felt_  his erection on his leg and fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He ran a hand over his face to clear his thoughts.

"You… you go around just making out with anyone. I mean, I know you and Vick… you two have like, I don’t know, an arrangement or something. But come on!" And that’s when it hit him. 

"You’re jealous."

"What, no!"

"You are, you little cunt. You’re fucking jealous. Was it Rob?" Misha could tell he’d hit the right spot the way Jensen’s face contorted with rage for just a second before it dropped. 

"It’s just, he’s an ass sometimes, and you - you’re always making out with  _someone_  at these things. I mean, for Christ’s sake, am I the only one you  _haven’t_  kissed?”

"Yes." Misha said, not a hint of humor or trace of anger. It was a single syllable full of all the regret and pain and ache that he’d carried for the past four years.

"Well," Jensen pouted and Misha couldn’t just sit there anymore. "Why?" Jensen asked and it was the most heart-breaking thing he’d ever seen. "Why not me?"

"Because," Misha said taking a step towards him, "you’re different."

And in the span it took Misha to cross the room to Jensen, he could see a gambit of emotions trail across his face. There was that moment, that one, perfect moment, when Jensen sort of smiled, something like pride and anticipation and want and acceptance followed closely by the downward quirk of his lips as frustration and pain and anger flashed through his eyes. 

"I don’t like it." Jensen whispered, finally stepping forward, and closing the distance between them to just a few inches. "Don’t fucking do it again, okay?"

And Misha let his eyes close, a wave of goosebumps spreading up his arms at the sound of Jensen hoarse and raw. “Make me.” He challenged, pressing his chest into Jensen’s. 

And before he could think better of it - egging on the jealous male model in his room - Jensen was on him. His hands were on his face, his neck, in his hair, pulling his shirt open, looping his fingers though his belt loops, on the small of his back.

And fuck. God damn. Fucking Jensen was a jealous ass. 

"I can’t fucking stand it." he bit out as Misha all but stumbled to reach for Jensen’s cock, which was _still_  hard and pressed against his inner thigh. 

And all Misha could think was ‘Yes’. 

Yes, please. Yes, finally. Yes, now. Yes, yes, yes. 

He needed this. He needed Jensen. He was drunk of the power of making him jealous, the high of knowing that Jesnen  _wanted_  him. 

When he finally got Jensen’s belt off, and zipper down he curled his hand inside his boxers, around his cock. He was  _sure_  Jensen had never let another man touch him like this before, and Misha almost wept with pride.

"Oh fuck." Jensen gasped as Misha began to jerk, clumsily, as they faced each other and left trails of wet kissed down each other’s necks. Jensen bit at his clavicle and Misha bucked against his hips. "I’ve wanted to do this for so long." And Misha was caught between cumming and crying, because nothing Jensen had ever said had been more perfect than that.

"Me too." Misha agreed as he pulled on the smooth, hot skin of Jensen’s dick.

Jensen made a garbled noise, something like a grunt or a growl as he placed his hands on either side of Misha’s shoulders and pressed down, hard. “Suck it.”

And all independent thought shut down. Misha fell to his knees and had his cock in his mouth before he’d even gotten Jensen’s pants to his knees. It was all instinct. Sucking and swirling his tongue, tilting his head to one side or the other, the asymmetric pumps of his fist and he slid Jensen in and out of his mouth. 

"Fuuuuck." Jensen groaned, and Misha leaned all the way in, letting Jensen’s cock hit the back of his throat. "Fuck me. Fucking shit." he let out a string of more fucks as Misha sucked and licked and stroked. 

His hands were dripping with his own saliva, and he could taste Jensen’s salty precum. There was something powerful about giving head, the ability to make a man shake with want and come complete undone. Misha’s lips began to swell from all the suction, and he was torn between wanting Jensen to cum in his mouth, and the desperate urge to violently jerk himself off. 

Finally, when Jensen started bucking his hips, and grabbed the back of Misha’s head, driving deep into his mouth over and over, Misha couldn’t stand it anymore. 

He fumbled with his zipper, eyes closed, while Jensen fucked his mouth. Eventually, he freed his own cock and immediately began to jerk himself off. His fingers were already slick with his saliva and he could feel that familiar, hot, coiling tendril of ‘now now now’ begin to spiral down. 

He was close.

"Ooooh, yeah, Oh yeah. Oh fuck. Yes. God, fucking fuck, fuck fuck." Jensen came, holding Misha so tightly to his dick, Misha could feel the shot of semen squirt into the back of his throat. He breathed heavily though his nose and worked his fist over his cock so hard, it hurt.

Only a few seconds after Jensen’s pelvis stopped twitching, and Misha had swallowed, he closed his eyes and felt the sharp, hot tingle of his orgasm hit him. He saw spirals of light and colors behind his eyes as he sprayed cum all over Jensen’s leg, the back of the couch, and his own hand. 

When he finally opened his eyes, he was slumped against Jensen’s leg, panting, still holding his semi-hard dick in his hand. 

"Fuck." Jensen murmured above him. He could feel Jensen’s knees quiver, just before he slid down the back of the couch, joining Misha on the floor. Misha’s arm was trapped behind Jensen, and he ended up sitting on his right foot. Meanwhile, Jensen had kicked one leg out, his pants still tangled around his ankles, a lazy smile spreading wide across his face. "That was good."

And Misha smiled back, huge and goofy and he probably looked like an idiot. But he couldn’t bring himself to care, because it was better than he imagined, better than he’d fantasized or hoped or dreamed. “That was nothing.” He said, licking his lips. He could still taste Jensen there, and as soon as he’d taken a nap and drunk a Gatorade, he was going to pay that jealous son-of-a-bitch back for everything.

For four years of beating around the fucking bush, for being jealous when all he ever had to do was show some fucking interest. For fucking his mouth so hard, he was going to have to go easy on solid food tomorrow, and for making him jerk himself off. 

Jensen pulled Misha’s jacket down from the back of the couch and draped it over them as he turned to the side and laid they down flat on the floor. He put his arm under Misha’s neck, and threw and arm over him, pulling him into the curve of his side, against the warmth of his body. “You can show me more in the morning.” Jensen mumbled. 

And Misha wasn’t surprised in the least that Jensen was one of those guys who immediately fell asleep after he came. It was fine with him, for now. Misha knew, they both needed sleep.

They could clean up, and deal with fallout in the morning, or if Misha could get to his bag before Jensen woke up and get his bottle of lube, maybe he could push the inevitable freak-out back another day, or a few hours at least. Either way, it was worth it.

Misha let a small, devious smile play across his lips as he drifted off to sleep scheming up the next way he could make Jensen jealous enough to fuck him over the side of the couch.

**Author's Note:**

> gif source: [[X](http://casplaystwister.tumblr.com/post/59432723521)][[X](http://tyrannosaurus-ssex.tumblr.com/post/56584740841)] | Prompt stolen from: [[X](http://blackwingsbrownleather.tumblr.com/post/59458136674)] | Motivated to finish for: [[X](http://rose-in-roses.tumblr.com/post/60125379584)] 


End file.
